Hiding From My Husband In His Enemy's Bed by itsvlada
Hiding From My Husband In His Enemy's Bed
Description
Waverly Breck built a hotel empire from a twelve-room boutique her grandfather left her. Then she married the lawyer who promised to help her grow it, and he took everything - her company, her name, her voice. Eight years of silence. Three miscarriages. A mistress he never bothered to hide. When Waverly announces her pregnancy at his hotel gala, Gary Pryce slaps her in front of three hundred people. She demands a divorce on his stage and walks out with nothing but a suitcase. Beckett Morrow is a rival billionaire who has told her for years that he plans to take her company. Now he is offering his lawyers and... his guest wing. The price: she stays close, works beside him, hands-on through every phase. Waverly has survived one man who disguised control as kindness. She is not about to trust another who makes generosity feel this easy. But Beckett Morrow looks at her like a man carrying a secret, and something about him feels familiar in a way that settles beneath her skin and refuses to leave. The closer she gets, the less she believes any of this started the night she thinks it did.
Chapter 1
May 7, 2026
Waverly's POV
Tonight, I am going to save my marriage.
The plan is simple. I will stand in front of four hundred guests in the ballroom of my husband's flagship hotel, take the microphone during my welcome toast, and tell Gary I am pregnant.
I have rehearsed this moment for weeks because I need to believe that the baby growing inside me is the answer to whether there is anything left of us worth saving.
Gary has always been his best self when people are watching.
He waited for our childless marriage to change the status as much as I did. After the news, he will probably cross the floor, and put his arms around me. Kiss me and hold me tight the way he used to, tell me that he still loves me.
And maybe, if this baby holds, he will look at me and stop seeing the woman who failed him.
So tonight everything got to be perfect, I did everything for that.
My dress is midnight blue, the one that he picked out two weeks ago. The pearl drops he gifted me at our last anniversary are perfectly visible with my hair pinned up — he always says that I look younger with my neck showing.
Eleven weeks I have hidden nausea from him. Because the last three times when I told him early, my body failed us both and I had to watch hope leave his face in stages.
I see my husband across the room shaking hands with investors, laughing that generous laugh he saves for cameras and people with checkbooks. Garrison Pryce, still respectable and handsome in his forty years old, tall and silver-templed.
He was an attorney when I met him — confident and ten years older than me, but the one who made me feel chosen. I was twenty-two, just inherited my grandfather's boutique hotel and Gary said he believed in my vision.
He said we would build it together. And we did.
Four grand hotels, a brand people recognized. Then he renamed it, and Breck Hotels went in as Pryce Hospitality Group came out.
I signed the papers because I had just lost our second baby at the time, and the guilt made me willing to hand him whatever I still could. I couldn’t bear to see another disappointment in the eyes of the man I love.
Two women near the bar catch my eye and look away too late. I know what they are whispering while looking at me.
Useless heiress. Garrison Pryce’s infertile wife. “Blind” and brainless woman who can’t keep her husband in the family.
And, unfortunately, they’re completely right.
Everyone knows about Tegan — Gary never bothered to hide his mistress. The one who’s half his age, who’s energetic, and easy, and… younger than me. The one Gary was with in Positano when the third misscarige happened while I was home alone.
I could not blame him, never. Only myself, only my mistakes and actions.
Maybe I could have given him a healthy child, if only years ago I didn’t…
"I bet you'd rather be anywhere else." The voice comes from my left, dragging me out of spiraling.
When I turn, Beckett Morrow is standing right behind me.
Gary's worst nightmare and our biggest rival.
He’s so much taller than me — six-two, maybe more — that I have to tilt my head back. His black hair pushed back from his forehead and steel-blue eyes hold contact with mine a beat longer than comfortable.
Sharp jaw and cheekbones, athletic build, suit worn like he forgot he put it on… Perfect image of a successful playboy. Every tabloid in the city photographs him with a different woman every week, and the gossip columns love him for it.
New York's most eligible billionaire who has never stayed with anyone long enough for a second headline. And the absence of a date tonight stops me.
Beckett without a woman on his arm is like Gary without an opinion — unnatural.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, crossing my arms to stop fidgeting with the pearls at my ears.
"Your husband sent me an invitation." He says it like it amuses him as his gaze drops to my mouth for half a second. "I don't pass up a chance to preview what I'll be acquiring one day."
"That's quite the assumption, Mr. Morrow." I hear myself say. "Too self-confident, one might say. Even for someone like you."
"It's more of a timeline, actually." He tilts his head, and the corner of his mouth lifts. "But the venue… there's a quality I didn't expect. Old-fashioned, but sleek. Gary doesn't have that kind of taste."
"He doesn't," I say, before I can stop myself.
I can’t tell him how much of me there is in this hotel, in this success. Nobody knows and it should stay that way. Gary is our public face, not me.
Even if I stay hidden behind every profit, decision or idea. Even developing and expanding this place the way my grandfather taught me… He’s the one leading us in investors' eyes.
And I made my peace with it.
"Perhaps you can explain it, then." His voice drops half a register. "Because the bones of this place clearly have better manners than anyone in it."
The compliment is aimed at the building, but it lands on me in a spot I was not guarding. I feel my chest open a fraction, and the loosening scares me.
"My husband wouldn't be happy to see us talking."
"Then he should be paying closer attention to his wife." Beckett says it lightly, almost carelessly, and glances across the ballroom toward Gary. "He hasn't looked at you once in the last five minutes."
The observation lands like a finger pressed against a bruise and I keep my face pleasant. "He's just very busy."
"No." Beckett turns back to me and his attention is so direct it feels like standing too close to an open flame. "When a man is interested in a woman, he doesn't stop looking at her. Ever."
He is looking at me as he says it. Then his gaze moves to my mouth again, to my neck, then back. And my body, the traitor it is, does not tighten the way it does around Gary. As if his attention is…
I shook my head slightly to clear it of his affection and take a step away from him. "Enjoy the party, Mr. Morrow."
"I already am," he says quietly to my back as I walk toward the stage.
The program card in the centerpiece says my name: Waverly Pryce — Welcome Toast. Gary arranged it weeks ago. The dutiful wife opens the evening so he can close it with the keynote.
He thinks he knows what I am about to say. About his success, his achievements and new alliances he formed. Every gala, I say the words he approves and sit back down. But not tonight.
"Thank you all for being here tonight." My voice fills the ballroom. "This hotel is the fourth property in our portfolio, and it is the one I am most proud of."
Gary's smile holds as I pause, but his eyes have sharpened. This is not the speech he approved, he understands it as I keep going with my own words. Then a few minutes in, finally… I’m ready.
"And tonight, there’s some news that has nothing to do with occupancy rates or investor returns. But everything with the legacy of my grandfather." My palm presses flat against my stomach. "I’m happy to announce that me and my husband are expecting a child."
The room erupts with applause and gasps, champagne glasses lifting. But I keep my eyes only on Gary.
Come to me. Come to me like you used to. Cross this floor and put your arms around me and let me believe that the man I married is still in there somewhere.
He sets his glass down before crossing the floor toward me. His face is unreadable when he steps onto the stage, and then close enough that I can smell the scotch on his breath.
Close enough that I open my mouth to say ‘are you happy…’
His palm connects with my cheek and my head snaps left. Heat floods my face, and for one second the chandeliers smear into streaks of gold before the floor catches me. Nobody moves.
Gary has never lost control in public before. But I have never given his audience a reason to look at me instead of him.
My cheek throbs in time with my pulse. The ringing fades, and what pours into the space it leaves is the clarity pouring in.
I was giving this man — the one I loved, the one I’ve married, the one I’ve handed my own inheritance — every piece of me for years, and he’s just…
No, the man I married is dead.
I hold his eyes and say what I should've said years ago, "I want a divorce."
Hiding From My Husband In His Enemy's Bed
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